Stress Relief
by Tie-grr
Summary: After a terrible first act, Olaf returns to his dressing room to find a wonderful surprise awaits him. Part three of a series Transferred from AO3 - based on the Netflix show


The door to the small dressing room slammed against the wall with a loud thud as Count Olaf stormed through, ripping the wig from his head. The damned thing was one of the itchiest accessories he had ever had the misfortune of wearing and he wanted nothing more than to watch it go up in flames. Preferably along with this whole blasted theatre, but a small part of him baulked at the idea of burning down a theatre simply because the audience was a pile of buffoons and the director was an imbecile. Olaf might love fire, but he tried his very best to respect his beloved theatre. At least, he tried in his own way.

He threw the offending item to the far end of the room and stomped gloomily to his dressing table.

The play was an utter disaster. What was meant to be his big break and chance to make it into a more renowned theatrical publication had turned into a flop. He should have known there would be problems the moment he read the script, but he had decided to give it a go against his better judgment. And now here he was, on opening night with a bunch of talentless hacks as his so-called co-stars - most of whom didn't know how to think on their feet and whined endlessly about how he 'changed the words' or 'hit me in the face'.

Amateurs.

A growl escaped him as he reached for his make-up until movement in the mirror caught his eye and he grabbed the nearest weapon-like object instead.

"Who dares- oh."

Olaf had turned to brandish his weapon, only to find none other than Kit Snicket standing before him, and she was barely holding back her laughter.

"Going to attack me with a curling iron, O?"

He growled and dropped the object back on the table, again turning to examine himself in the mirror. "How did you get in here?"

"You really must be having a bad night if you are asking questions with obvious answers." He shot her a look in the mirror. "I pretended I was a lovestruck fan of the great Count Olaf."

She knew that he couldn't resist such a compliment, and from the look on his face she had successfully brightened his mood a little.

"Not that far from the truth, then."

"Oh, aren't we cocky?" Kit laughed and crossed the distance between them to stand at his back.

"Well, I don't have long, but I am sure I could find a few minu-"

She smacked him across the back of his head, rolling her eyes. She couldn't help laughing at his antics. In moments like these, she saw the young man she had fallen in love with, the true Olaf hidden beneath the layers of pain and villainy.

"I came because I wanted to see you, don't make me regret my decision."

It had been weeks since they had last seen each other and Kit had been wrestling with coming to see him since the moment she returned to the city. Her regular visits to his home were likely to draw unwanted attention eventually. But staying away from him after so many years apart had become incredibly difficult. When they were alone, he was a different person. He was her Olaf again. He had begun opening up more and more, confiding in her as he had done many years ago. They were growing closer with each visit and though her brain told her it was a bad idea to grow so attached to him again, every part of her heart and soul ached for him.

She was utterly screwed.

Olaf was busy refreshing his makeup, applying far too much powder to his face but she knew better than to comment. He met eyes with her reflection, a fresh smattering of powder on his cheeks.

"Were you watching the first act?"

"No. It seems arriving late has worked in my favour, if your grand entrance is anything to go by." Olaf was quick to fly off the handle but the theatre usually calmed his anger.

"I can't begin to describe how utterly talentless they all are; incapable of reciting lines and adapting to the rigours of the theatre."

The 'rigours of the theatre' were almost always caused by Olaf himself, but Kit would never point that out.

"It sounds like you have had a very difficult evening." Her hands soothingly rubbed at his shoulders.

"I have," He moaned when she pressed hard on a particularly tight knot, "But you are making it a lot better."

Her touch gradually drifted over his shoulders and down his chest. Nimble fingers undid one of the buttons on his shirt and she started to play with the soft dusting of chest hair beneath. A glance in the mirror revealed he was watching her hand intently. She leant in to whisper in his ear, "Is there anything else I can do to make it better?"

The speed of his actions caught her off guard, allowing him to easily spin around and capture her lips in a searing kiss. His hands slipped into her hair and were he not sitting in a small swivel chair she would have clambered onto his lap.

"I can think of a few things." The words were panted against her lips.

Kit could also think of a few things, and one was bound to help him forget just how difficult the first half had been. She pulled his hands from her hair and dropped to her knees before him.

She firmly rubbed her hands up and down his thighs, dancing dangerously close to the already growing bulge between them. His breathing picked up and when she looked at him she could see excitement sparkling in his bright blue eyes. His costume pants had no zipper, meaning teasing him was that much crueller. Olaf moaned out her name the moment she stroked him through the soft fabric.

"Was this on that list of yours, O?" She used the knuckle of her forefinger to run along the length him, relishing in the way he squirmed beneath her.

"There was a lot more skin on skin contact in my mind." She was proud of the way his voice wavered.

"Then why don't you fix that?"

In a flash, Olaf was on his feet and had tugged down the off-white pants. Kit now found herself staring directly at his proud erection and she wasted no time wrapping her hand around the base of the shaft. Slowly she ran her hand up the length, once, twice, then flicked her tongue over the angry looking tip.

The sound he made was somewhere between her name and pure nonsense, his hand flying down to rest on the back of her head. He didn't apply any pressure to force her - never had he forced her - but his fingers tangled in her hair. Her tongue moved from his tip to run down his length and back up before she pulled away entirely.

"Sit down." It was an order, and one he obeyed immediately.

He settled back in the chair and gently pulled on her hair to encourage her forward again. He was rock hard and the look on his face betrayed just how desperate he was. She was sure that the red tinge on his cheeks had nothing to do with the makeup he had been applying.

She stroked him a few more times before finally taking him in her mouth. A string of curse words fell from his lips while hers tightened around his shaft. Steadily she bobbed up and down, taking as much of his length in as she could with each movement. When she sucked in her cheeks his whole body jolted and when she lightly grazed her teeth along his shaft he cried out. Perhaps she should have checked if the door was locked before indulging in such activities - Olaf was not being quiet.

The way he trembled told her that he was not far off his release, and she briefly wished she wasn't so overdressed as she felt arousal pooling in the pit of her stomach. One of her hands gripped his thigh as the other gently fondled his balls, wanting to push him just that little bit further.

All of a sudden, his hips jerked and he shouted her name hoarsely. She felt his seed flood her mouth and she swallowed it without hesitation. The bobbing of her head gradually slowed to a stop and she let go of him with a wet _pop_. Just to add to it, Kit very obviously licked her lips and held his gaze.

Olaf looked like he might faint.

"Something wrong, dearest?" Her hand still rested high on his thigh and she slowly stroked the sensitive skin with her thumb. Wordlessly, he shook his head and swallowed hard.

Somewhere above them a speaker crackled into life and informed the many people backstage that there were only two minutes left until curtain. For a moment it seemed like Olaf hadn't heard his warning, but his eyes darkened slightly and she could almost see his mind working. No doubt he was trying to figure out how much he could get away with doing to her in less than two minutes.

"Come on," She laughed as she stood, "You need to get back out there. Preferably with pants not around your ankles."

Olaf jumped to his feet as though he had just been stung in the backside and tugged his pants back up, hurriedly tucking in his shirt. "I don't have to go. It's a flop anyway, there are far more interesting things I could be doing."

Kit laughed again and shoved his shoulder.

"As flattering as that is, the show must go on. But I will be waiting right here for you. After all," She gently brushed the excess powder from his cheeks and ran her thumb over his lips. "I expect reciprocation."

His lips crashed against hers in a kiss that could have easily led to everything she desperately needed at that moment, but she managed to push him away with a sigh.

"Go, before I change my mind. And don't try to change it." She warned when he opened his mouth to speak.

"I'll be back." He promised, scrambling towards the door. "I'll be back."

"Olaf?" Kit had settled herself comfortably on the small couch sitting in the corner. He stopped at the door and obediently turned to face her. She pointed to the wig on the floor. "Break a leg."

The Count hurriedly retrieved the blasted wig and shoved it on his head, completely uncaring how it looked anymore. He flashed her the brightest smile and disappeared out of the small dressing room.

As it turned out, waiting an hour for your lover to return and finally take care of the burning between your legs was very difficult. Kit found herself desperately wishing for a book, a radio - anything to distract herself from simply taking care of this problem on her own. But Olaf was true to his word, and at long last, he returned with only one thing on his mind.

She had been about to ask how the second act had gone when he slammed the door closed and 'gallantly' shoved a chair under the handle to provide them with some privacy. Turned out the door didn't even have a lock.

He was on her in a heartbeat and she melted into his harsh kisses. Her hands clung to his shirt, his own tearing open her blouse to reveal her simple, practical bra. That night he returned the favour in earnest, leaving her trembling and shouting his name for any passers-by to hear. Then they lost themselves in each other, joined as one on the tiny couch which was hardly big enough for just one of them.

And it was perfect.


End file.
